Ned looked out and saw two more terrorists running from the shadows toward the house, their guns winking red flashes as bullets crashed into the logs on the front of the cabin and came in through the window striking the back wall. Lucy dropped the flare gun and fired the Colt.45 over and over, attempting to hit anyone trying to make his way to the door.
Trying to jack another bullet into the chamber, the old rifle jammed. Ned looked up just as one of the terrorists started to throw something. The man stumbled but still managed to toss whatever he was throwing forward. Ned heard it bounce off the cabin just before it exploded with a deafening clap and a flash of brilliant light, knocking him against the back wall.
Stunned and half-blind from the blast, Ned looked over at Lucy who was frantically trying to reload the revolver, just as the door of the cabin was kicked in. One of the attackers stood there with his rifle aimed at Lucy. He held his fire and instead swung his gun over to Ned.
At the exact moment Ned expected a bullet to end his life, the man lurched forward a step, dropping his rifle. He looked down, as if in amazement, at the razor-tipped arrowhead and six inches of shaft that protruded from his chest. Dropping to his knees, the man murmured, “Allah akbar. Allah akbar. Allah-” and collapsed.
Ned and Lucy looked at the dead man, not comprehending. But they were grinning a moment later when they heard a familiar voice from just outside the cabin door. “Ned, Lucy…don’t shoot. It’s John Jojola.”
“Yahoo!” Ned shouted. “It’s the cavalry!”
“Don’t be insulting,” Jojola answered stepping into the cabin. “It’s the Indians who are saving your pale butt.”
“One of them is a Vietcong Indian,” Tran added, slipping in behind him.
“Okay, yahoo, it’s the Indians and Vietcong,” Ned laughed.
“If you guys are finished talking nonsense, I’d like to get out of here,” Lucy said. “It’s been a really long day.”
Jojola turned on his flashlight, the beam of which caught Lucy standing half-naked in her bra.
Ned whistled. “Yeehaw! Now, that’s what I call a nice pair of hooters.”
“Hooters?” Lucy hissed. “Ned Blanchet, you’re a dead man.”
The room went dark again as Jojola turned off the flashlight. The door opened and a dark figure ran out of the cabin. “Not if you can’t catch me,” Ned shouted over his shoulder.
“Here’s my jacket,” Jojola said, holding it out in the direction he’d last seen Lucy.
Lucy’s angry face loomed out of the dark and into the partial light from the moon and stars outside. She glared at Jojola. “Men,” she muttered, then left the cabin yelling, “Ned, you cowardly piece of shit, you get your ass back here so I can kick it.”
Over by the cottonwood tree a “coyote” yipped with glee. Then laughed. Then Ned howled in pain. “Damn, getting shot hurts.”
19
John Jojola’s dead…and they tried to kill my kids. Karp stood near the witness stand, waiting for the hearing to start, anxious for it to start and take his mind off the news from New Mexico. It was three days later, but the anger still boiled up inside his gut until he had to force himself to look about the courtroom just to keep from hitting something.
Fortunately, everyone else was also occupied. Guma was behind the prosecution table but with his back turned to Karp as he leaned over the bar in earnest conversation with Detective Fairbrother.
Over at the defense table, Emil Stavros sat surrounded by his defense team, trying to look involved though his three main attorneys hardly acknowledged his existence while they conferred behind him. Stavros was wearing a bright orange jail jumpsuit, having been locked up in the Tombs ever since violating the conditions of his bond. The judge had agreed with Guma’s argument that the little jaunt to upstate New York proved he was a flight risk. Every once in a while, one attorney or another would lift his head and peer over at Karp or Guma, like a quarterback surveying the opposing defense from the huddle, then go back to talking strategy.
Or lunch plans, Karp thought, surveying the defense lawyers. Someplace they could be seen by the media, like the Tribeca Grill. They’d protest that they weren’t supposed to comment, there’s a gag order you know, however, you are aware that…
Three days since the attack in New Mexico and Karp was still fuming. Marlene had gone to Taos to check on her daughter and Ned, and more tragically, to attend the memorial service for John Jojola. According to the Taos News, the police chief of the Taos Pueblo had been killed by suspected Islamic terrorists. Although there had been very little official information provided by the U.S. Department of Homeland Security’s man on the scene, assistant director Jon Ellis, the aggressive little weekly newspaper speculated that the assassination of Jojola had something to do with his having played a role in stopping a terrorist plot in New York City on New Year’s Eve. “It’s possible that this was a revenge thing,” the newspaper quoted a source close to the investigation.
Apparently, Jojola, a decorated Vietnam veteran, put up quite a fight as the entire gang of a dozen terrorists also died in the gun battle that took place at the old Josh Steers homesteader cabin, the newspaper stated.
According to Taos County Sheriff Chris Ferguson, Jojola is credited with saving the lives of Taos residents Ned Blanchet, who he said also fought bravely and was wounded in the fight, and Lucy Karp, a newcomer to Taos from New York City where her father is the district attorney. Jojola was apparently killed by one of the terrorists, who had been wounded in the fight…
God, you’d think I would be used to it by now, Karp steamed silently as the judge’s clerk entered the courtroom, an indication that the judge was on his way and it was time to amble over to the prosecution table. In fact, you’d think I’d have gotten past telling myself that I should be used to it by now.
He wondered what Marlene was up to and could only hope it didn’t involve more guns. She’d called after arriving in New Mexico and told him that Lucy was fine and that Ned, while grazed by a bullet and knocked around a bit, would heal completely, too.
However, she was mourning the loss of Jojola, who apparently died just when it appeared that the fight was over. One of the terrorists who’d survived had apparently hidden a weapon and killed Jojola.
The entire reservation is locked down; no one but tribal members are allowed on the property. However, there’s going to be a memorial service tomorrow for everyone else, Marlene had said. He had a lot of friends in this area and elsewhere, and the tribal council wanted to give them a chance to get back here for the memorial service.
Marlene’s voice caught. Karp thought she might be crying and kicked himself for not going with her. He’d liked Jojola a great deal from the moment they’d met-a man at peace with himself and his view of the world. I wish I could be there, Karp said. But this hearing-
John would understand, Marlene said. He’d tell you he’s not here anymore anyway, at least not physically. I’m here to pay my respects out of consideration to his people. Maybe if I’m lucky, his spirit will find me.
Karp hung up the telephone not sure what he thought of Marlene’s faith in Jojola’s spirit-filled world and Lucy’s Catholic mysticism. Then again, I suppose they’re no different than Judaism and the concepts his boys were studying for their bar mitzvah. Spirits. A God risen from the dead. Or a God who parts seas and hands down laws written in stone tablets. It all takes faith, he thought. You believe what you believe.
What he believed right now was that Kane was trying to make good on his threat to kill the people he loved, and it had shook him. Most of Karp’s adult life he’d been exposed to the most heinous side of human nature, of which the slaughter of the children and officers during Kane’s escape was as bad as it got. But there was still a big difference when the intended victims were your flesh and blood, and if Kane had walked into the courtroom at that moment, Karp would have gladly wrapped his hands around his neck and squeezed.
Karp was still indulging his homicidal fantasy of w
atching Kane’s face turn blue when the bailiff entered the court, followed by the judge, and cried out the traditional, “Oyez. Oyez. The Honorable Judge Paul Hans Lussman III.”
As they waited for the judge to be seated, Karp, who was standing next to Guma at the prosecution table, glanced back to where Jack Swanburg and Charlotte Gates were sitting, waiting to be called to the stand. Gates smiled at him and Swanburg added a nod; they looked relaxed and slightly bored. During witness preparation in Karp’s office the night before, Swanburg and Gates had assured him that their scientific expertise was convincingly persuasive.
Between us, we’ve done a couple thousand of these, Swanburg said when they met in his office before walking to the courtroom. We’ve found that keeping an even keel-simply testifying about the science without appearing to favor one side over the other-tends to go over well with juries and jurists.
After the body was exhumed, Bryce Anderson, Stavros’s lead lawyer, had filed a motion to controvert the search warrant and to prevent the prosecution from entering the remains found in the Stavros backyard as evidence. The defense’s main contention was not only deficient probable cause to justify the issuance of the warrant, but there was insufficient proof that the body was that of Teresa Stavros. So the judge had granted the defense request for an evidentiary hearing.
“Good morning, Your Honor,” Anderson said. “I’ll leave alone the question of the district attorney’s motives for suddenly pursuing this case just five months before the general election. However, this case is awash in irregularities, including the DAO pursuing an indictment for murder when there was no proof that Mrs. Stavros is even deceased. Then they go all the way to Colorado to ‘find’ some group that claims to locate bodies with divining rods, or some such thing, and now claim that they ‘know’ whose bones are buried in the backyard at the Stavros residence. The defense contends that the state should have to at least prove that the remains are truly those of Teresa Aiello Stavros. If they are not prepared to do that, or simply cannot do that, then we are asking the court to suppress the bare bones, pun intended,” he said smirking while looking back at the press, “upon which this case rests. And I might add, Your Honor, to order the District Attorney’s Office to vacate the indictment and let Mr. Stavros go on with his life, which first and foremost will be to unseat the current district attorney of New York.”
The judge looked at the prosecution team. “Good morning, Mr. Karp and Mr. Guma,” he said. “Which of you will be speaking on behalf of the people?”
“Mr. Guma,” Karp replied quickly. “He is lead counsel in this case. I’m here as Sancho to his Don Quixote.”
The courtroom tittered and even the defense lawyers allowed themselves to smile. “I see you haven’t managed to keep him from tilting at windmills,” Anderson joked, half turning in his seat to see if the members of the media were taking notes that might state something about his commanding presence in the courtroom. He’d spent a lot of time at the gym to keep his body toned and more than a few bucks with a “cosmetic surgeon” to make sure the face remained taut and youthful, and he looked like he got dressed at the dry cleaner’s. He checked the effect by winking at a pretty blond television reporter and was rewarded with a blush. Have to buy her a drink later, he thought absently. Wonder what she’d do for “an exclusive.”
“Indeed,” said the judge. “Very well, Mr. Quixote-slash-Guma, are you ready to proceed with your evidence?”
“I am, Your Honor,” Guma replied as he rose from his seat. “But first I wanted to note something about Mr. Anderson’s innuendo stated for the benefit of the press specifically that the District Attorney’s Office chose to pursue this case prior to the election. Your Honor will recall that it was the defense that insisted on their client’s right to a speedy trial, and in fact chose the date in September as ‘most convenient’ for their busy schedules. As Mr. Anderson, this court, and anyone somewhat cognizant of the judicial system is aware, he could have delayed this trial until after the election. Indeed, we were prepared for that likelihood. In that case, only Mr. Karp’s political opponent would have benefited from the timing of this indictment as an opportunity to attack Mr. Karp through the only too willing members of the media-long before a jury renders a verdict that we believe will justify the timing as, in fact, long overdue.”
“Thank you for that aside, Mr. Guma,” the judge said sardonically. “But your boss is a big boy and plenty capable of taking care of himself. Please address the legal issues in front of this court today.”
“I was just getting there, Your Honor,” Guma replied. “My first response to counsel’s diatribe is to note that this is a system based in part on the law of common sense. Every juror is told that when deliberating, they are free to use their experience, their common sense-that when trying to ascertain what is meant by reasonable doubt, they are to use the same standards as they would when making an important decision in their everyday lives…their common sense. Mrs. Teresa Aiello Stavros, a devoted, thirty-five-year-old mother, disappeared fourteen years ago, fifteen in August. Since that time, there has been no evidence-not a clear photograph, not a conversation with a credible witness, not a handwritten letter. And in fact, as the defendant well knows, based upon all the facts contained in the affidavit that supported the issuance of the search warrant, at trial the people plan to call a handwriting expert who will testify that the signatures, allegedly of the deceased Mrs. Stavros, that appear on the so-called credit card and bank withdrawal slips-evidence the defense maintains is proof that she was still alive as of nine or ten years ago-were in fact forged. Moreover, we have a witness who says he saw Emil Stavros strangle his wife. So if the body, discovered after having served a legally justified search warrant issued by this court, isn’t that of Teresa Stavros, whose would it be?”
“Exactly,” Anderson replied, not waiting his turn as he shot to his feet. “Who? But that isn’t for my client to determine, or this court. It’s the state’s burden to prove that the body ‘found’ in the backyard is that of Teresa Stavros. And I’ve seen nothing that conclusively says it is. How does the state plan to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that my client killed his wife if they can’t even prove that the remains they plan to parade in front of the jury belonged to her? Or that she’s even dead? From what I understand, essentially what they found was a skeleton-no fingerprints or fluids to test DNA.”
“If I might continue, Your Honor,” Guma said testily. “Even if this body turned out to belong to Amelia Earhart, we’d still go forward with our case. The evidence presented to the grand jury that handed down the indictment in this case was more than sufficient to permit a trial jury to convict the defendant as charged.”
“Grand juries don’t hear the other side of the story-”
Guma ignored Anderson’s remark. “The means that led to the discovery of the remains at the Stavros residence, as well as the scientifically valid measures we’ve taken to positively identify the remains, will be presented at trial for the jury to weigh.”
Anderson rapped his knuckles on the defense table. “The state is well aware of the emotional impact that presenting a body, any body, would have on jurors,” he said. “By the time Your Honor grows tired of the testimony by their so-called experts, it will be too late. The jury will have heard that the bones belonged to Teresa Stavros, and no matter what I say, or what instructions you may give them regarding the burden being on the prosecution to prove it beyond a reasonable doubt, they will believe what Mr. Guma here has told them. It’s just human nature to want to solve a mystery and bring some closure for Zachary Stavros. But my client has a right-”
“-and so did Teresa Stavros,” Guma shot back.
“Your Honor, Mr. Guma is being disingenuous,” Anderson said. “Without the body, they know and I know that what they have left is a foray into carnival sideshow hypnotism and a bunch of circumstantial evidence that doesn’t prove a damn thing. The truth of the matter, one that the NYPD reached years ago, is that this woman wal
ked out on her family, drained her accounts to get even with a cheating hubby, and is probably dancing the salsa with some hot young Latin lover as we speak.”
“Your Honor, what this hearing proves is that my counterpart is either an idiot or assumes that we’re idiots to believe that these remains belonged to anyone other than Teresa Stavros,” Guma said hotly, his face flushing. “However, we recognize that the burden of proof in this matter rests with the prosecution. But we contend that the weighing is rightfully something for the jury to undertake.”
“The jury cannot be expected to weigh fairly,” Anderson retorted just as angrily, “when faced with this quasi-scientific jargon and guesswork meant to confuse any layperson-at least that’s my motion from the papers I’ve been given so far, which I might add are very limited. I can’t even prepare my own expert witnesses because God only knows what the prosecution’s witnesses will claim.”
The judge held up his hand. “Okay, gentlemen, you’ve both had your say. I am going to wait to render my decision until after I’ve heard from two of the prosecution’s experts today. In the meantime, I have a small matter to take up in my chambers, and we’ll recess for thirty minutes.”
Karp remained standing after the judge left, but Guma plopped down in his seat where he doodled manically on a yellow legal pad. “You okay?” Karp asked.
“Yeah, I just thought that the ‘young lover’ remark was below the belt,” Guma said. “She should have left that bastard Emil; he was the one fucking around on her. But she couldn’t because she would have lost custody of Zachary. It just pisses me off that some slime-ball attorney can disparage a victim’s character without any proof whatsoever, but say one unkind remark about their client and they want a mistrial.”
Karp patted his friend on the shoulder. “Hey, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’re getting personally involved with this case.” He meant the remark in jest to lighten the mood, but immediately regretted it when he saw Guma’s eyes smolder and jaw tighten.
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